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On a different track Blimey, there's lots of adverts on this page. Good. And Grief. Got any spare clicks, guv? So with Vatel on the back-burner for who knows how long, I'm out looking for a job. Which is both easier and harder than I'd imagined. Easier because there's a fair amount of jobs going, harder because the bureaucracy involved is truly insane - even by French standards. Honestly, it's almost as though they don't want you to register as a job seeker, as if the entire job-seeking bureaucracy existed only to keep employed those working there. Ahem. So, for future reference, here's the procedure. There are two bodies that deal with the unemployed: l'ANPE and ASSEDIC. The initials stand for something but really, it doesn't matter. The ANPE is where you find out what jobs are available and the ASSEDIC are the ones who hand out unemployment benefit. Now, I don't want the benefit because I know I'm not entitled so I started out at the ANPE. Thinking logically I headed to the nearest large town in my department with an ANPE office, Alès. This was over two weeks ago, to give you a clue how long all this takes. I had the ANPE address - it's in the ZA, Zone Artisanal, it said. Not so easy as Alès has several, all with their own cryptic signs and maps. But as luck would have it, the second roundabout going into town has a sign pointing to ANPE. This is, of course, the only such sign and, once you're in the ZA there are no further signs, so I had to investigate every nook and cranny of the estate to try to find it, with several detours down dead-ends until I found the relevant cranny. I presented myself to the receptionist and explained that I'd like to look for a job, please. Ah, she said, have you registered with the ASSEDIC? Why, No, I replied - I don't think I'm entitled to benefits, I just want to look for a job. There appeared to be a number available, the notice boards around the room seemed to be covered with offers. Well, you need to register with ASSEDIC first, she said. Here's a map with their office address, but don't go there - you have to telephone first to avoid the queues. Hmm. So, out in the car I called - the bit of paper with ASSEDIC's details clearly said they're open today, Wednesday afternoon. But there's no reply, no noise, nothing for several calls. Well, I thought, I have nothing else to do - I'll go round and sit in the queue, I've brought a book with me for just this purpose. Of course, the map doesn't include any reference points known to the regular citizens of Alès like the town centre, the train station, the river, the church, you name it - this cartographer's ignored them all. So I employ my favourite navigation method, driving round in circles until something turns up - and, voilà, a street sign pointing to the ASSEDIC - which, it turns out, is round the back of the train station. Quite how the cartographer managed to so carefully avoid this prominent landmark will have to remain a mystery. ASSEDIC is, of course, closed. The sign on the door says it's open, the hours of opening say it's open, the bit of paper in my hand says it's open. But I appear to be the only person to believe this since the surrounding car parks are all empty. Huh. Home. Next day, Thursday, I'm at the Grange de Labahou pretending to be a cook, and I telephone the ASSEDIC as soon as I get home - one minute past four - to listen to the recorded voice telling me that ASSEDIC, for my further help and assistance, is open from some hour or other until 16 hours. One minute ago. It will be open tomorrow, Friday, from 9 until some time or other, so I try that the next day. And, at one minute past nine, the recording tells me that, for my further help, assistance and convenience, all the services of the ASSEDIC are closed today. Huh. Monday. I finally get through to the ASSEDIC and manage to register on the phone. I now need, the nice lady tells me, to go to the ANPE to find a job. This I know already but I pretend she's being helpful. And the nearest ANPE office to me is, she says, pausing dramatically, Le Vigan. Ah, I say. Le Vigan. You see, I explain, Le Vigan is about 50 kilometres that way whereas Alès is 20 kilometres in the other direction. Can't I go there? Why of course, she says, go anywhere you like. Phew. Tuesday: the ASSEDIC papers arrive and tell me to go to - Le Vigan. Eh? I call the number - to hear the recording telling me that, for my further help, assistance, convenience and luxury of being unemployed, ASSEDIC is closed at the moment, call back later during our luxuriously long opening hours. Which appear to be 0901 - 0902 every third Monday of the month except when there's a number in the date. So, Wednesday I call the ANPE to make an appointment. No need for an appointment, we're open all the time. No, not this afternoon of course, it's Wednesday - don't you know anything? So, Thursday at Labahou and Friday I drive round to Le Vigan and see the ANPE. Finally. Ah, says the nice lady, you're the first journalist I've ever had here and my, isn't your form filled in beautifully and at length? (Thank you, Marie!) Impressive but (tap, tap, tap) there are currently eight vacancies for journalists in the whole of France, all in the Paris region and all for specialist magazines - Bridge Builder Weekly, Aircraft Designer fortnightly, that sort of thing. So, no job for you matey. But, she says, go and see the ASSEDIC, they're round the corner, they may give you some money. Ah, I say, I fear not - I've only paid National Insurance in England....tap, tap, tap she says. Hmm, I see that, in fact, ASSEDIC have already rejected your claim. My claim? I made a claim? Well, who am I to argue... Anyway, she says, they're closed today. They're closed every Friday this month - it's August, you see. Oh yes, I dream of working at the ASSEDIC, she says dreamily. Good grief. Go and see a social worker, she says. Call your Mairie, they'll tell you the nearest one. They'll give you some money even if you don't want any. Cheerio, good luck. Blimey. Well, all this palaver entitles me, finally, to look at the ANPE job listings either in person or on their website, now that I have my codes and what have you. Hmm. There are about a dozen jobs going as plongeur and/or aide cuisine, which is what I've been doing at Labahou. Some give details of the restaurant concerned, others require you to call the ANPE for details....good grief; another couple of days trying to get hold of the permanently-vacationing civil servants. So, finally I've sent off two CVs with accompanying lettres de motivation. Letters of motivation are more important than CVs, really; a CV lists bald facts - where you worked, when, how clever you are as measured by how many exams you've passed. The lettre de motivation explains - quelle coincidence! - how this job, yes this very job is perfect for you and, what's more, how - quelle coincidence incroyable! - you happen to be the perfect, yes the very perfect candidate for which this employer has been so tirelessly searching! Amazing! Now I have an interview with a Traiteur-restaurant on Monday afternoon, and I'm waiting to hear back from a Michelin-starred gaff over the other side of Nimes as to whether my washing up skills are good enough. Then on Thursday, when I recounted all this to Frank and Isabel at Labahou, they expressed surprise that I should consider myself a humble plongeur - why, I'm at least a commis chef in terms of experience and what I've accomplished with them, they say very flatteringly. So yesterday I looked through the jobs for commis and discover that the nearest posh restaurant - it's literally just over that hill there, the one behind my computer - is looking for someone to fill this function for two months, and so is the Hotel Vatel, where I'm no longer going to be studying for the next year. Good grief. So I get on the phone and, you've guessed it, both positions are already filled. Heck and flip. So. Wait for the interview on Monday. Wish me luck.
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